Who Dares Do More
by TheEvilDog
Summary: A group of warriors are sent to a remote village on the edge of the Nevarran forests. What they find there will mark them forever, if they survive. For one warrior in particular, it will mark him in more ways than any physical scars and the beginning of his story.
1. Chapter 1

"**RUN CHILD! RUN!"** The old elf screamed to her daughter as they ran through the dense forest. The mob was closing in on them, the jeers and cries of the men echoing in her ears. Each step through the brush left a new cut on the elf's cheek, a new tear on the heavy wool shirt.

"THERE THEY ARE! GET THE KNIFE EAR BITCHES!"

Fear drove the old woman to run faster and left her to too afraid to look back. It was all she could do to keep focused on her daughter, only a few steps ahead. Only once did her daughter look back, her eyes wide in terror. If the humans got a hold of them… The old woman was too afraid to imagine what would happen and what they would do to her daughter.

The forest suddenly gave way to the plains and the thick mud churned up by the spring's heavy rainfall. The sudden change caused the old woman to stumble and fall with a shriek. The cry was almost lost in the thundering rain and only barely heard by her daughter, turning and slipping in the mud as she tried to make her way back to her mother. The terror in her eyes told the old elf that the mob was too close now, that they were doomed.

She waited for the club's blow that would hopefully end her life.

It never came.

"Away with you. This here is none of your concern!" The apparent leader of the mob had stepped forward, brandishing an axe handle. His clothes were dirty, patched with material from other, older items. His thin, wispy hair clung to his head as if it were afraid to be blown away by a light breeze. As he spoke it was plain to see he had lost more teeth than those that remained. Rough, weather-worn hands gripped the axe handle, the knuckles whitened as the grip tightened. Behind him stood five other men, all similarly dressed and armed; a sickle here, a rake there and other farming implements. "This here don't matter to you so leave afore we decide you're in the way."

It was clear these men weren't thieves or brigands, merely farmers. Farmers threatening an old woman and her daughter.

He looked down and saw the old elf being huddled in her daughter's arms. The pair were terrified, silently pleading with him for help.

He spoke, moving himself between the women and the mob. "I am here now; even if I did just walk away, I am still involved. So tell me brave sers, what have two elven women done to deserve such wrath?" A heavy green cloak hung over his shoulders, the hood pulled over his eyes, shielding him from the worst of the elements and hid his face from the men.

"For surely, brave sers such as yourselves, must only have given chase to these women for some heinous crime?" The tone was calm and lightly mocking, spoken in flawless Nevarran, save for a hint of an accent.

The leader sneered and pointed the handle at the elves. "They be witches!"

"Oh?" The hooded figure looked at the pair and shrugged. "And how are they witches? I see no magic here."

"They sold us a potion for our sheep, said it would make 'em better! They lied!" The leader spat at the women, the wind carrying it and hitting the hooded figure's cloak.

"LIAR!" The younger elf cried out. She gripped the figure's cloak and pleaded with him. "Help us, please! Their sheep were ill and my mother gave them a tonic to make them well. But it will take time! Please, don't let them take us!"

"Shut up, whore!" A second man stepped forward, the one carrying a sickle. "Damn knife ears. Only one way to deal with them."

He reached out, aiming to grab the girl's hair.

The figure moved swiftly, gripping the man's wrist and twisting it to a dull snap. Pushing the farmer out of the way, the hooded figured leapt forward and barrelled into the rest of the assailants. The leader was knocked down with a heavy backhand and the axe handle wrenched from his hand. The farmer with the rake was brought down with a bone crunching blow to the knee from the axe handle and a scream on his lips.

The others were too terrified to attack and ran back into the forest, carrying the farmer with his injured knee with them, the sickle farmer following. Only the leader remained, groaning and squirming in the mud. The hooded figure leaned down and grabbed him by the scruff of his collar, pulling him close before growling at the groggy farmer. "I will ask this once and once only. Did the potion help your sheep?"

The farmer groaned and nodded slowly, speaking through clenched teeth. "Aye, it did but not fast enough!"

The hooded man threw him down and rifled through his belt pouches and shirt, pulling out several silver coins. "Get out of here before I decide to take more, such as your head."

The farmer panicked and ran, slipping and stumbling with every step. Satisfied with himself, the hooded figure turned and began to count the silver coins. As he walked towards the elven women, he took a pouch from his belt and dropped the coins into it.

The women were still terrified as he approached, still fearful of any reprisal. The fear was still there until the man dropped to his knee and helped the old elf to her feet. "My apologies for that, my ladies. I saw you being chased and well, to be honest, it didn't seem fair." It was then that the man unclasped his cloak and wrapped it around the women, revealing a head of thick black hair, framing the sides of his face and a warm smile. He opened the old woman's hand and dropped the pouch into her hand and closed the fingers around it. "Take it. I hope that will cover any price you agreed upon with those farmers for that aid. Now, if you follow the road, you should come to an inn before nightfall. They will take care of you."

The old elf was struck speechless, amazed to hold so much silver in her long life. Her daughter spoke in her stead. "Thank you, kind ser. For a kindness, I offer one to you. Stay away from the northern hills. You will find only death there."

The pair thanked him again and turned, travelling down the path and hurried past three riders and a hound. The hound bounded forward and rolled at the feet of his master as one of riders approached, a second horse's reins in his hands. The rider smiled and handed the reins over to the dark haired man, his heavy cloak shielding him from the worst of the rain. "Introducing yourself to the locals, I see."

The young man chuckled to himself and took a hold of the reins. Steadying the horse, he pulled himself into the saddle and re-joined the other riders. "Oh you know me, Beranger; I always make friends wherever I go."

The cloaked rider followed and shouted to him over the rain. "Just remember Aedan, we were sent to help these people, not to cause any trouble."

"_Aedan."_

The name echoed and faded in the air, changing its tone, becoming more feminine, more familiar.

"Aedan, wake up. You were talking in your sleep."

Aedan's eyes opened and saw his lover looking at him, her eyes betraying mild annoyance. "Sorry. What?"

Morrigan caressed his cheek and smiled. "I said you were talking in your sleep. As you have done every night this week. Tell me what it is that has you so rapt in your sleep."

Leaning forward, Aedan ran his hand through Morrigan's hair and kissed her lips. "Forgive me, my love. It was only a dream. And nothing more."

Satisfied for now, Morrigan returned the kiss with one of her own and rested her head on Aedan's chest. Stroking her cheek, Aedan fell back asleep with his words still playing in his mind.

_Only a dream._

_And nothing more._


	2. Chapter 2

"'Tis a curious thing." She whispered as her fingers stroked Aedan's cheek.

The Warden smiled as he made himself comfortable as his arm wrapped around Morrigan's shoulder. "What is?"

"The marking on your face." Morrigan whispered before nipping on Aedan's neck. "I know of every mark upon you, each scar and each tale behind them and yet I know nothing of this."

Aedan was silent for a moment, contemplating what to say before simply saying. "It is simply a marking, nothing mo—"

The Witch snapped her head towards Aedan and glared at him. "Aedan Cousland! Do not tell me 'tis nothing and do not take me to be a fool, my love." She continued; a hint of a mischievous smile on her lips. "I know how your mind works. A marking like that would have taken considerable time and effort to complete and no small amount of pain for you. You would not have allowed that without some meaning behind it and I wish to know."

Morrigan rose up and straddled her lover's hips, resting her hand on the centre of his chest, purring as her hand glided down his body. "Or perhaps I have need of the hot wax?"

That crooked grin, the same grin he always had he was teasing her, flashed across Aedan's face. "Actually Morrigan, the hot wax sounds like it might be fun!"

Morrigan stopped and leaned in closer, whispering in Aedan's ear. "And use it on a far more delicate part of you."

The grin disappeared instantly.

"You would do that, wouldn't you?" Aedan let out an exasperated sigh, throwing his hands out in defeat before wrapping them around Morrigan and gently kissing her lips. "Very well, you win. But I warn you now, this will be a long tale so if you want a drink, get it now. I don't want you walking around while I tell the story."

Smiling to herself, Morrigan playfully slapped Aedan's chest before trying to make herself more comfortable in his arms, now rapt to hear the tale.

Aedan sighed, absentmindedly stroking his love's hair. "The story began during the war against Orlais, before I was born. I know you are well versed in ancient history, but what of modern history? No matter. The key point here is that there was one particular battle near White River; perhaps it would be easier to say it was a massacre. My father was one of fifty survivors from the battle, along with Arl Bryland and Howe." The Warden's jaw stiffened at having to mention the name of a traitor. Momentarily silent, Aedan continued. "As the survivors made their way into the mountains to recover, my father came across what was left of the ship. It had been attacked by pirates off the coast and most the crew had been killed; save for two survivors. They had swum to shore after the ship sank."

"Who were they?" Morrigan rested her head on his shoulder and watched him continue the tale with genuine interest. The Witch knew that Aedan respected his father and loved him. She also knew that despite it having been nearly three years since his parents' death, the pain still stung Aedan. He rarely spoke of them and the chance to hear him speak of them was a chance she would not ignore.

"Nevarrans. It was a merchant vessel out of Cumberland. The survivors were a crewman and the Margrave of Cumberland's son, Carsten Pentaghast. My father feared what might happen if they were found by the Orlesians and took them with them into the mountains. If they had been found by the Orlesians, well, it would have been easy to kill a member of the Nevarran royal family and pass it off as him being killed by pirates. And if word had gotten out that a Pentaghast had been killed by Orlesians, it would have dragged Nevarra into the war."

"Would that not have been a boon for the rebels?" The question was sincere and a little surprising to hear.

Aedan shook his head before he leant over and kissed the tip of Morrigan's nose. "Ferelden was fighting for its freedom while Nevarra would have fought for revenge. Ferelden would have been another theatre in the rivalry between Nevarra and Orleis. In the end, Ferelden would have to have knelt either to the old master or a new one. Instead my father chose to hide Carsten while he recovered." Settling again, Aedan continued. "Carsten and my father became friends and when he recovered, he promised to send aid. Of course by that time, King Maric and Loghain had won the war. Instead Uncle returned to Cumberland and convinced his father to send much needed supplies to Ferelden to help recover after the war."

Morrigan looked up with a tilt of her head, her voice carrying a hint of annoyance. "That still does not explain the marking. And why did you just call him "Uncle"?"

"Patience my love, patience. This is but the prologue of the tale." Aedan laughed to himself. "After the war, Carsten's father passed away and he became the Margrave of the city. Eventually Uncle married, Lady Ishild. They soon had a child, Avila, born a month after I was. The friendship between our families continued and there had been some talk of Avila and I being promised to each other."

Stopping for a moment Aedan looked into Morrigan's eyes as a sad smile formed on his lips. "When I was about twelve years, word came of a fever that had swept across Nevarra. Among those who had died were Lady Ishild and Avila. When the fever had passed, my parents decided it might be best for me to go to Cumberland and serve as a squire to the Margrave."

"Was that not unusual? I thought all knights served as a page first?" She reached up and caressed his cheek.

"Indeed, but most of my education in war had been with the bow and Fergus was in Denerim as a squire to King Maric. There was nowhere else I could go to serve as a page; so much of my education was in Highever, my reading, writing and history was taught by Aldous. Given the circumstances though, I think my father wanted to remind his friend he was not alone and still honour their friendship. So by year's end, I was in Cumberland with Beast, learning at the side of knights and dragon hunters."

The sad smile faded and replaced by a warmer one as happier memories played in his mind. "Carsten, despite his grief, treated me like his own kin and he became a second father to me and his nephew. Beranger Pentaghast had become orphaned during the fever and so came to live with Carsten. We grew up together; Beranger is probably the closest I have to a brother…other than Fergus and Alistair of course… We trained side by side and more often than not we had prank wars with each oth—"

Morrigan snapped again, glaring at Aedan. "I still fail to see what this has to do with your marking."

The crooked grin returned and with it came Morrigan's turn to be exasperated. "You wanted the tale; you have to suffer through the prologue. Don't worry. It's almost done."

The grin disappeared into the night as Aedan began the tale.

"It started when I was twenty one with the death of several villagers near the eastern edges of the Planasene Forest. We were called to the Margrave's council chambers."


	3. Chapter 3

The dwarf opened the door to the council chambers and bowed towards Aedan before stepping back. As the young man entered the chamber the doors closed behind him, leaving him alone, watched by the engraved eyes of the draconic statues that decorated the walls.

Each dragon was carved from white marble, armed with golden fangs and claws while fiery rubies stared down. Each dragon was poised to tower over a solitary knight, ready to strike. Each statue was a marker of a legendary battle between Man and creature; a testament to victory, heroes and a bygone age.

Or at least that was what the world believed thirty years before. All believed that the dragons had been consigned to history with the werewolves, the darkspawn and griffons. And yet, in the last years of the Blessed Age, two devastating dragonflights proved that Dragons still had a strong presence in the world. Many still wondered what the Dragon Age would hold for the world.

In truth, the statues made Aedan feel uneasy; the years he had spent training in Nevarra all felt as the prelude to a test and each set of ruby eyes that hung over his head felt like the eyes of the world had turn to him, ready to pass judgement.

Shaking his head of those thoughts, Aedan picked up his pace. The Margrave had called for him an hour previously, the servant only found him a few moments before. Carsten was a man rarely given to rash decisions and yet to act in such a manner did little to ease Aedan.

Turning the corner, past the last marble statue of a dragon in the throes of dying, a knight driving a blade into its neck, Aedan saw the others had arrived. The three were standing before the heavy wood doors of the inner council chambers, presumably where Carsten was now. Beranger Pentaghast, Gisela Machla and Derrin Alnwern were all in quiet discussion, goblets in hand, as the young Fereldan approached.

Derrin was the first to notice Aedan, offering a slight sneering smile and raised his goblet to him, seemingly in jest. "Ah, there you are, Cousland." Derrin finished what was in the goblet and set it to one side before turning back to Aedan. "I was beginning to think the servant had run off, or were you in the taverns again?"

Aedan was about to return the jibe when Gisela interceded, offering Aedan a goblet of red wine. "Pay him no mind Aedan; we arrived a few minutes before you."

The goblet was accepted with a warm smile as Aedan glanced over Gisela. Wearing a floor length woollen dress, dyed green and embroidered with gold silk, Gisela could have easily have been mistaken for an ordinary Nevarra noble woman. Yet Aedan knew that beneath the dress, beneath the burning red hair and the excitable green eyes, lay one of the most terrifying warriors he had ever seen, her skill with a maul unmatched by many of the soldiers in Cumberland.

Taking a drink from the goblet, Aedan looked at the others made idle chatter. Derrin was his usual obnoxious self, telling the others of the news from his father's estate. While Aedan could never bring himself to actually dislike Derrin, there was always something unnerving about him. He had long pondered what it could have been, with the young Cousland eventually settling on the idea that Derrin's face was far too sharp, as though he was a blade given life and human form. He had also supposed that much of Derrin's bluster was a way to compensate for distrust that many of the Nevarran nobility felt towards the Alnwern family. During the Blessed Age, Derrin's grandfather had conspired with Orlesian nobles to hand over the fortress near Perendale. Though his grandfather had acted alone, many of the nobility still felt that the Alnwerns were let off too lightly, losing much of their estate after the war with Orlais.

Still, as much as Derrin annoyed him, Aedan remembered the words of his parents and politely smiled and nodded when needed and silently wishing for him to shut up.

Beranger had been silent for much of the conversation, instead staring intently at the door. Nervously running his hand through his hair, the Margrave' nephew had begun to hum to himself before Derrin spoke again; saying what was in all their minds. "I do not like this. Why summon the four of us now at this hour?"

Beranger whispered, quietly at first before he realised the others didn't hear him. "I do not know Derrin. I was in the study with Uncle when a messenger arrived before noon. He has been in conference with Ser Merrick since. The only time Uncle left the chamber was when he sent servants to get the rest of us." It was then Beranger noticed Aedan standing next to him for the first time since he had arrived. "Archery range again, Aedan?"

The young nobleman grinned and patted the Nevarran's shoulder. "I wish. I had a bow and a quiver of arrows, I had almost made it when Brader found me and "suggested" I helped perform sword drills with some of the pages. There went my afternoon."

The mention of the old sergeant's name brought a smile and a light laugh to the group, each remembering the old man's insistence on practise, each with their own tales of the halfhand's teaching methods. Beranger chuckled slightly and nudged an elbow into Aedan's side. "You have no one else to blame but yourself Aedan. You know the old man has—"

The doors flung open as Ser Merrick stepped out of the chambers. The lightly built Captain of the Guard greeted the squires with a curt nod and addressed them before taking his leave. "The Margrave wishes to speak with all of you. He will explain everything. I will meet you at the stables. You'd best enter now."

Aedan watched the Captain leave, puzzled that the usually collected knight had a hint of worry in his voice. As the others entered the inner chambers, Aedan grabbed the door handle and pulled it closed, ensuring some measure of privacy.

Carsten Pentaghast stood by the fire and stoked the burning logs, staring at the flames with a mix of anger and worry. In the back of his mind, he knew that the years had not been kind to Carsten. The death of his wife and daughter, then the death of his brother and his wife. To add to that the uproar among other branches of the Pentaghast clan when Carsten named Beranger as his successor, all their toll on him. Once possessing hair that many called spun gold, the gold had long disappeared and since replaced with a wintery grey. Laughter lines had disappeared and in their stead came heavy wrinkles. Always a tall man, the Margrave now seemed smaller, tired and with the worries of the world upon his shoulders.

The Margrave still tended to the flames as the four stood around the table. If he had heard them come in, he gave no sign, only watching the flames.

After a moment, Beranger approached Carsten, his hand reaching out to the older man's shoulder. "Uncle?..."

The dragon graven fire poker was put back in its place as Carsten turned around and nodded to the group and smiled, beckoning them to sit down with all the warmth of a father with his children. "Come in and please, sit down and eat. I am afraid this must not take too long and you will need of this meal." The fatherly warmth slowly faded as Carsten continued. "This matter is urgent and time is of the utmost import."

"Of course, my lord." Derrin, taking apart a chicken with consummate ease.

Carsten placed a map of Nevarra, allowing all to see it before taking a dagger and directing them to a point on the eastern edge of the map. "There is a village to the east, on the farthest edge of the Planesene Forest, it has been under Pentaghast protection for the last three generations. The rider that arrived earlier brought a message from my retainer in the village. According to Ser Adalwin, there have been several animal attacks over the past year. At first it was a sheep at one farm, a cow at another. Distressing for the farmers, but all livestock can be replaced. Then in the last month nine people from the village and some of the surrounding hamlets were attacked and killed. Adalwin sent out his guards…" The Margrave paused, taking in a deep breath. "One barely returned. Half alive."

"What did this?" Aedan stood at the Margrave's side as Beranger asked the question, studying the map. The village was not on any trade routes, remote. _Travel would be difficult._ He looked across Carsten's shoulders to Beranger, the young man seemingly thinking the same thing as he silently nodded at Aedan.

"I do not know, Beranger." Carsten stabbed the map and table in frustration, a fiery anger in his voice rising. "I do not know if I wish to know. I have few options here, many of my own knights and soldiers are out on patrol and yet I cannot spare the few that remain here. Ser Merrick will ride out ahead of you and track down one of the closer patrols, they should join you by the week's end if the weather holds."

Aedan raised an eyebrow. "Uncle, what do you mean by "ride out ahead of us"?" He had suspected Carsten had some task for them, but not one involving such apparent death.

"Exactly as it sounds, Aedan." Carsten patted Aedan's shoulder and addressed the others. "I cannot spare any soldiers and you are all of age. This will be your errand for your spurs. I do not like this, but as I have said, this matter is too urgent. The four of you are all I can spare right now, but I do know that each of you is skilled and you have been trained by some of the best warriors in the land. I do not like it, but you are ready."

"When do we leave?" Gisela stood and asked the question that was on all their minds.

"As soon as you are gotten ready. I will have a small ship ready for you at the docks. It will take you along the coast and moor at a small fishing village. There will be horses for you, the village will be a full day's ride to the north. Ser Merrick will make sure you are given gold and supplies for the journey and I have sent word for food to be sent to your chambers as you prepare. Now go, Maker steel your hearts." The Margrave dismissed the group with a wave.

"Beranger, Aedan, I wish you both to stay for a moment."

Aedan looked at Gisela and gave her a comforting smile before closing the door again. "Of course Uncle."

Certain the others were gone, Carsten walked over to his desk and removed a scroll from one of the drawers, handing it to Beranger. "I did not want to say this in front of Derrin or Gisela, their families have both had strong ties to the Chantry. You see, there was another message from Adalwin. There are a group of Templars in the forest. Apparently they have been hunting an apostate from that escaped from Starkhaven, probably yet another youngster terrified of being locked up in the Circle and decided to make a break for it." Carsten rubbed his temples as he spoke. "I doubt you will encounter them, but you should meet these Templars, offer them every courtesy. Share a fire with them or offer them provisions, but do not join in their search. They have their task, you have yours. Help Adalwin and hunt this beast down. Let the Chantry take care of their own business."

Beranger saluted Carsten, standing bolt upright as he did so. "Very well Uncle. I give my word."

"As do I." Aedan joined in the salute, offering a short bow to the Margrave.

"Thank you. You both do me proud." The fatherly smile returned for a moment. "Now, be off with you. You have much to prepare and little time to do it."


End file.
